(no subject)

[sticktothemission]

 Gabriel is uncomfortably sitting on the couch across from the fireplace, hoodie pulled up and thoughtfully frowning at the fish. He slowly and regularly taps a finger against the mug of tea in his hands pausing only when he takes a sip. It tastes about how he would expect for something that's supposed to help with aches and pains, which is to say he makes a face every time he drinks.

(no subject)

[idontneedluck]

The air outside is biting and dry, the ice both muffling and accentuating - footfalls disappear, but the crack of a lightbow echos loud across the lake. At the firing range, Chirrut puts in the necessary practice to keep his aim true. His staff stands behind him, held up by a snowdrift.

Eventually he'll come inside for tea, hands blanched and cheeks red from the cold.